


Wildfire.

by tevinterr



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tevinterr/pseuds/tevinterr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>"A spark neglected makes a mighty fire."  ~Robert Herrick</p>
    </blockquote>





	Wildfire.

**Author's Note:**

> "A spark neglected makes a mighty fire." ~Robert Herrick

A little girl sits alone in the middle a bed of freshly fallen autumn leaves, orange and red like fox fur and stark against the dying, browning summer of the forest floor. She hugs her knees, drawn close to her chest, and stares idly at the dirt that has started to blacken her bare feet — she is listless as the sun finishes setting, hair black as ash draped onto her tear-stained face, pale and dotted, sun-kissed.

She is abandoned but not lost. The only source of light for almost a mile flickers before her in the palm of her hand, outstretched barely a foot from her face — a small flame, a burning bevy of bold color not once singing her skin, the spell is practiced, fresh but perfected. As she stares into the small lick of fire, her brow knits in a mixed display of concentration and unbridled fury, brewing inside of her, molten and hot — _how could she have been so naive?_

When they asked her to play with them, she should have known. After all, the other children were the reason she knew that her ears were too small for a Dalish elf, barely visible beneath her long sheath of hair (she'd take a knife to it later), and that sparking embers with her fingertips was not something a _normal_ child should do — she had been reminded loudly and unabashedly that she was peculiar, that she was strange, and that she was the only child in the clan without a mother. That was odd, too.

Still, Wynona had said "yes" when they had asked her to play with them — a game where they all went out into the depths of the forest, got lost in the shadows of the trees, and took turns chasing each other. The child whose turn it was would count to ten then run as fast as they could towards the others, who scattered and hid, until they caught one — their screams of laughter would ring throughout the forest, rustle the leaves and wake the lantern flies. Wynona knew this game well, but had never practiced it.

For a while, everything had seemed to be going well — she never knew that she could enjoy the company of others, let alone the company of the children in the clan. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge, she thought to herself, a small, but enthusiastic grin tugging at her lips as one of the children, red-haired and wild-looking, snuck up on her from behind, snaked her arms around her shoulders and cried, "You're it!"

Wynona remembers how she had still been smiling when she approached the nearest tree and leaned forward against it, its bark rough and dry against her forearms as she hid her face, shielded her eyes. She began to count, whispering the numbers aloud so that only she could hear them. By the time she reached eight, something cold and heavy sank into the pit of her stomach. There was no more laughter, no more loud whispers, the sound of crinkling, crunching leaves and tiny footsteps no longer echoed through the forest.

"Ten," she said aloud in a small voice, slowly turning away from the tree and observing the area. Her face fell and her hands began to tremble. All she could feel was the ice in her gut and the crisp breeze against her face, blowing strands of inky black hair into her amber eyes as she saw her suspicions confirmed — _they were gone._

As she recalls the events, she can feel the heat rising in her chest, her jaw clenches, and the flame in her palm crackles, spits. She thinks about how heartbroken she was mere hours before, how lonely she felt — how lonely she has always felt. Clenching her hand into a tight fist, Wynona extinguishes the fire in her hand with a frustrated huff.

With the blaze put out, the forest is nearly pitch black save for what moonlight is peeking through the tall tree canopies, swaying lazily in the brisk night air. She stares into the dark for seconds that turn into minutes until finally her eyes adjust, falling on what she first believes to be a lantern light before she realizes that it is growing larger, drawing nearer. She does not get to her feet, but she does brace herself — funny how she had not thought the woods a danger to her until this very moment.

Wynona squints her eyes as the light closes in on her and makes out a small figure roughly her size. The light is a torch and, as the figure approaches within yards of where she sits, she recognizes it as belonging to the girl with the wild red hair, the girl who had tagged her "it" before waiting until Wynona had closed her eyes to run away with the rest of the children.

The red haired girl approaches and Wynona can see the remorse in her face, illuminated only by the torch in her hands, which blazes comfortingly. The girl's eyes are glassy, her cheeks ruddy and red — she has been crying, Wynona concludes, unsympathetically. For a moment, the girl just stares down at her as if waiting for her to move, but Wynona remains seated, her gaze piercing, accusing.

Slowly, the girl reaches toward her, offers a hand — Wynona tilts her head, observing the gesture curiously. The red haired girl exhales loudly as impatience begins to set in and, finally, Wynona lifts her own hand, places it in the girl's palm and wraps her fingers around her wrist.

"I got in trouble with Keeper, you know," the girl says, though her voice does not echo the contrition in her face — it is spiteful, somewhat contemptuous. "You ruined the game, Wynona, you were supposed to come catch us, you were supposed to—"

The girl screams so loudly, even Wynona's blood begins to curdle.

She glances down, draws her attention to the point where her palm meets the girl's wrist and her eyes widen not with surprise but with awe - flames bright yellow and blue leap and roll beneath her fingertips, searing raw, dark red marks into the girl's flesh. Wynona's eyes narrow as she concentrates on controlling the embers, burning the girl deliberately, spitefully, enough to leave ugly scars but not to permanently impair - a reminder, not an affliction.

The girl continues to scream long after Wynona has let go of her and long after the elders of their clan find them both in the darkness. Wynona remembers the looks on their faces, the silent shock, and, on some, the horror — they probably would have left her there too.

Keeper Deshanna steps through the small crowd of elves that has formed, waves them away with her hand before scooping Wynona up in her arms — the stern look on the keeper's face is what finally sprung tears to the child's eyes.

"No tears," Deshanna says soothingly, despite the furrow in her brow. "I will not pretend that what you did was right, but I do understand why you felt the need to do it."

"It looks worse than it is," Wynona replies in a small voice, looking up at her keeper with sharp, keen eyes. "She'll be okay."

Deshanna does not look down at Wynona as she begins carrying her back through the forest toward their camp.

"But will you, da'len?"

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is the first part of a 10k fic I've been working on for a while and it's also the first fic I've written purely from my lavellan's pov, so I'm a bit nervous to post. it was originally for the dragon age big bang, but because I'm working on another big, multi-chaptered fic now, I've decided to do away with the deadline and begin posting chapters to this one now so I can devote equal time to both. the explicit rating is for later chapters, btw. not too much later, but, as you can see, it's not in the prologue. >) feel free to leave comments, 'cause I thrive off of feedback. hope to see you again for chapter 1!


End file.
